There is still a mouse in my garage. Whether it is the one that we put in the trash can or his friend, I don't know. All I know is that the mouse is smarter than me, and all of my feelings of kindness and mercy are going out the window.
We cleaned the garage on Friday, as the mouse droppings were multiplying and the sonic noisemakers weren't effective. So we got to cleaning up. We uncovered the mouse. He ran. And hid. We uncovered him. He ran. And hid again. I was entirely useless, as my husband ran around the garage with a shovel in one hand moving things and shaking things. I'm sure it would have been funny to see, but I couldn't see much with my hand over my eyes while I was screaming.
We gave up after the garage was clean, but he was hiding in a stack of wood that I have for making cornice boards. Mercy? Going out the window. We set the mouse traps. Four of them. Peanut butter with a bran flake topping.
Not two hours later, I made Sarge go check the traps. All four were still set, but licked clean.
We reset the traps. More peanut butter, squished in the nooks and crannies with a bran flake topping. Replaced them.
This morning? We can only find three clean traps. I have to assume he took the fourth as a trophy to his pile of friends living in my garage.
I'm going to come after him with a shovel myself if this keeps up.